Druid Training
“Do we really have to go this far out, father?” Complained the young Séan as he pulled a twig out of his dark, shoulder length hair. It felt like the pair had been walking for days, they left the village coated in a brilliant orange aura from the rising sun, now they stood beneath the trees with their shadows barely more than a small black blob beneath their feet. “Of course we do, lad. Now keep silent.” The far older Fiach chastised the boy. He’d heard the complaints throughout the day, and he was beginning to grow tired of them. He had expected such from the boy, though. The old Druid was much the same during his own training almost one hundred fifty years ago. But he knew it was best for the tribe, for all the Vulfchain, to endure the complaining and teach the boy what he was meant to learn. Already he had taught him a great deal; Spending nights with him in the wilderness a ways away from the village to be near completely alone in nature, teaching him to identify every single animal he could find within a twenty mile radius, right down to the age and which position it was in its respective society, along with a few harsher trials. Once he carried the boy and set him in the center of a sleeping pack of Brufkirs while he himself was unconscious. He then observed as Séan, only around four years of age at the time, woke up in an absolute panic. He offered no help, not even visual queues from afar as to what he had to do, just let him figure his way out of the situation on his own. If he could figure a way out of the potentially deadly situation, he’d be one step closer to his destiny. It wasn’t easy, but through a bit of tree climbing, a lot of breath holding, and a possible soaking of his garments, the pup managed to escape the predators. Another trial involved having the boy, aged seven at the time, stick his hand into a nest of Kreflars. Why? Well the fairly logical reason was to have him build up an immunity to the creatures’ poison, and garner a general pain tolerance. It may not be deadly, but it burned like fire surging through one’s veins when it did enter them. After a day of crying his weight in ounces of tears, Séan had built up a fairly strong resistance to the venom, and a much better pain tolerance. Why go through all of this? To bring him closer to nature, of course. To leave him alone to escape the Brufkirs was to give him a chance to use nature around him as to not disturb the creatures, and show that they will not automatically attack him if he’s close, only if he disturbs them. To have him stick his hands in the Kreflar nest was more than just building up a tolerance to burning, but to show how hard creatures will fight to defend their homes, how hard they will fight to defend nature. And that is what he should strive to be; a defender of his land. A keeper of the forest. On this day, his final trials began. He was kept in the dark about this one, even more so than usual. Fiach did not even tell him what it was he was supposed to learn from this lesson. Only that he would, ‘Return to the village a new Vulfchain,’ whatever that was supposed to mean. Finally, as the sun began its descent into the sky, and the pair’s shadows began to take shape between those cast by the dense leaves above their heads, they arrived. Before his father could even say anything, Séan was in absolute awe. In front of them resided a wide, open grove. In the center stood a gargantuan tree, one bigger than the younger had ever seen in his entire life, all eight years of it. There was a break in the canopy surrounding the leaves of the largest tree, giving an open rim of clear sky between all of the leaves. Several streams flowed from the northern end of the clearing, converging into a small pool surrounding the tree trunk, before they all flow out of a single stream at the southern half of the tree, splitting off once more into multiple pathways and retreating back into the forest. To make it even more of a spectacle, the slowly fading light of the approaching sunset coated the grove with a warm hue that just the mere sight of it felt like standing in front of a fire to Fiach and, to a lesser extent, Séan. “The Heart of The Forest, lad.” Fiach said with a wistful sigh. “This is where your training will end.” He looks down at the boy, who looks up with pure hope and wonder in his eyes. “This is where you become a Druid.” The elder Vulfchain says with a hint of a smile on his face. The father-son duo set up camp for the night, a camp that consisted of nothing but a pair of beds made from fallen leaves at the side of the water surrounding the tree, and the elder’s cloak, staff, and wooden circlet set to the side. The boy laid down and quickly fell asleep, but Fiach stayed up sitting cross legged as he meditated, his eyes fixated on the tree. His mind focused on the earth and grass beneath him, the sound of leaves rustling in the gentle evening breeze, the scent of the fresh, pure water running by seeping into his nostrils. Within time, his mental reach extended to more than just his own senses. He felt the wind brushing and pushing against the leaves, his spirit moved freely along with flow of the streams. From the Lawnas gliding in the air above him, to the roots snaking deep into the soil beneath him, he felt it all. Every single living element in the forest for nearly a mile could he feel. True to the words of the first Druid, his mother Uaine, he uttered, “I am the Forest. The Forest is me,” under his breath as to not wake his son. After he’d extended his reach as far as he could, the man shut his eyes, slowly letting his grip upon the land fade. First it was the grasp on the tiny bugs and blades of grass that faded, then the smaller avians and flowers, before even the mighty trees and hulking grazers slipped from his mind. All that he focused on was the Heart of the forest. His fists ball up on his lap, his eyes screw shut, and a chill runs down his spine. A pit formed in his stomach as memories began to flood back to him. Memories of his own training, of his final trial. The horror quickly subsided, though. With a deep breath in, then out, Fiach allowed all his tension to unwind, his hands relaxing in his lap once more as he whispered to himself. “A am the Forest. The Forest is me.” With that, he brought himself wholly back into his body, eyes opening up once again as he turns to face his still-sleeping son, sighing softly. The father then lies down in the bed beside him, shutting his eyelids, and drifting off to sleep himself. Fiach was the first to rise the next morning, unsurprisingly, opening his eyes and pushing himself into a sitting position at the first sight of light breaking through the canopy. He wasted no time springing to his feet, grabbing his cloak made of fur from a Staklen’s hide, a thick and heavy thing, but it helped symbolize his status as the Druid, and kept him warm during the winter months. What else helped distinguish him from a common Vulfchain was his wooden circlet that he propped upon his head, a simple circle of smoothed out wood, aside from the front of it, in which the two ends of the circlet coiled in on one another before tapering into a single point going upwards. His fingers then wrap around his staff, decorated with intricate designs ranging from runes to depictions of beasts and trees from the base of the staff, now planted firmly in the round, to just below the head of it. The head split itself into several different tendrils of sorts, all moving in their own direction, appearing like vines or roots, each independent of one another. Planting his staff into the ground, the elder Vulfchain pushes himself up to his feet, looking down at his son and raising the staff up, gently tapping him on the back.”Rise, lad. It’s time.” He says, his voice still raspy from having recently awoken. The boy groans softly, still young enough to complain, despite his training, about waking up before the sun was more than peeking over the horizon line. “Come, now. To the stream with me.” Were the first words he heard from his father as he rubbed his eyes and forced them open. With a groan, he pushed himself up to his feet with a brief stumble. The groan only got louder as his vision clouded from standing up too quickly, which he tried to push out of his mind as he made his way towards his father, who was already kneeling down at the side of the stream. Séan took a knee beside his father, about to reach into the water to drink before the latter grabbed his hand. “Not yet, lad. I want you to do something first.” He said, continuing on before his son had a chance to complain. “I want you to think about the stream as you reach into it.” Seeing the confusion on his son’s face, Fiach went on, “I want you to feel the way the river runs, the fish swimming within it, the rocks strewn about the bottom of it, where it comes from and where it goes.” With that, the Druid released his son’s hand. He may not have fully grasped what his father was saying, but he did have an idea. Slowly, the young one reached his hand into the water, attempting to ‘feel’ the stream as his father told him. “Close your eyes, lad.” He heard from the Druid, “Focus not on yourself, but that which you feel.” With only a hint of hesitation, primarily from confusion, Séan closed his eyes. At first, all he felt was the movement of the river, the gentle flow around his hand and between his fingers. But then, as a bit of time passed, he felt a little more. Tiny pushes from the fish swimming in the river, the force behind their tails and fins miniscule, but somehow noticeable. Through it, he envisioned the fish within the water, even where they were going while swimming around his hand. Fiach must’ve seen something change on the boy’s face, as he spoke up, “Can you feel it, Séan? The life within the stream?” He asked. The boy nodded, and a smirk appeared on his father’s face. “Go one step further. Extend your mental reach to not your physical form, but to the creatures that you share the water with.” Séan opened his eyes, turning back to speak, “Father, I don’t think I c-” “Don’t doubt.” The elder interrupted, “You’re not an ordinary Vulfchain, you’ve Druid’s blood in you. You can do it.” He assured his son, who still seemed a tad worried about it. Regardless, his eyes shut once more, returning his focus to the flowing water where his hand reside. The boy’s tried to extend his mind, to think about more than just his physical being. At first, he felt nothing. Nothing more than the water running between his fingers. But then; a pebble!' A pebble? Was that really it? His heart sank, but quickly began to float back up. He realized that his hand was far enough from the bottom that he couldn’t have just brushed his fingers against it, not unless he actively tried. It couldn’t have been one carried by the stream, either, as the current wasn’t strong enough to move anything more than tiny bits of gravel. As if he needed more confirmation, he felt more and more; small plants brushing up against him, his body tapping against a rock, movements of his body turning around. Yet he remained completely still, and his hand was touched by naught more than water and grit. The look on his face was of pure awe, his mouth hanging open as he tried to make sense of it all. He didn’t want it to end. “Do you feel it, lad?” His father finally speaks up again. “Do you feel the life of the stream? Every move it makes?” Fiach asks. “I do, father.” The boy begins. “I feel the flap of the fins of the fish, the water running through their gills, the rocks scraping against their scales. It’s all so…”' “Magical.” The elder finishes his son’s sentence, prompting him to simply nod as he let himself get lost in the sensation of being enveloped by the nature around him. A sensation unlike any other he’d experienced in the corporeal world. He had dreams of something of a similar nature, but nothing could compare to actually experiencing it. Fiach looks to his son, truly pleased that he’s experiencing the wonder of the land around them, the same feeling he had when he completed his trials. A smile grows on his face as he closes his eyes, whispering as the wind blows to disguise his words beneath the gust, “As you had with me, mother.” “I got it!” The smaller Vulfchain cries out as he lifts up a Lanra, one hand tucked under its furred belly, the other grabbing onto one of its small antlers. His father replies with pride, “Excellent, lad! See, all that time catching the wee things paid off, now didn’t it?” He asks with a short chuckle. “Y’knew how they moved just like you can now know where they move.”''' Séan nods excitedly, putting the critter back to the ground and watching it scurry away under the midday sun. He’d used his newfound ability of feeling the nature around him to figure out where the creature was going to run when he approached it, and responded as needed. His ability had been getting stronger over the last few days, going from sensing a few fish and weeds in the river, to feeling the movement and split second decisions done by all life within a few feet of him, spurred on by his father’s assurance that he would only be able to sense further and further the more he practiced. “I think you’ve gotten the basics of your Druid’s Eye locked in.” Fiach says to his son, “You’re training’s almost complete, lad. You’ve to learn just two more things. Come here.” He beckons his son over as he faces towards the towering tree that stood in the center of the place they held so sacred. He sets his staff down on its side as he sits cross-legged on the ground while the child does the same. “You know the Druid’s Eye, now you need to know of the Druid’s Arm.” The grey-muzzled Vulfchain says. “Watch carefully.” He adds, before placing his palm flat on the ground in front of him, closing his eyes. Within moments, blades of grass begin to move around them with the wind. Except, the wind is flowing in the opposite direction, and the blades further away aren’t swaying nearly as much. Then, they begin to move side to side, some moving ever so slightly faster than others until they begin to move as if they’re waves in an ocean of green. Not but a second later, they all begin to move independently, in their own directions, at their own paces, with not a care for what the others do. The younger one grows more and more fascinated with the display happening around him.' “Father, are you doing this!?” He asks in pure disbelief, body twisting around as he takes in the sight all around him. The father nods, a weak smile on his face. “Aye, lad. In me younger days I used to be able to do a lot more than this. Still could if I wanted to, but it’d put me in bed for a couple o’ days.” He explains, pulling his hand back and allowing the grass beneath them to slow and return to its natural, gentle bobbing in the warm breeze. “You, Séan, are going to be able to do so much more than I ever could.” The father turns his head to his child, a look of confusion on his face combined with the lingering bewilderment, and explains, “Your grandmother was the first to discover the Druid’s Arm. Impressive as it may have been, I quickly found that I was stronger than she was, in this regard. And you, will be stronger than me.” The pup, still looking rather confused, speaks up, “How do you know, father?” Fiach turns his head to the hulking tree that had been looming over them since they first entered the grove. “The Forest breathes life into everyone. Even those who don’t believe in its sacredness. Druids, like myself, your grandmother, and soon, you, are given a little bit more than the average creature. Further still-” He trails off for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before continuing, “When a Druid becomes one with the Forest, his or her strength is then transferred into the next. So the Druid then has his or her own strength, combined with any previous ones.”' Looking even more stunned than when the grass was moving, Séan looks to the tree alongside his father, before asking another question, “How does the Forest know who is the Druid? That the wrong person doesn’t get chosen.” “It works in mysterious ways, lad. But it knows. It knows.” Is his only response, before he changes the subject. “Now, I want you to try what I did. Not on that scale, necessarily, but try making that Lanra’s Ear bend a little bit.” He requests, gesturing to the plant sprouting from the ground to the boy’s left side. It’s a small little thing, only a few inches taller than a blade of grass, with sapphire petals that curve outwards in the center, then inwards again, similar to titular ears of Lanras. Initially having his inner doubts, the boy remembers what came of trusting his father in the last lesson. He follows Fiach’s movements, planting his palm flat into the ground and shutting his eyes. The elder Druid offers only one piece of advice,”Use your Druid’s Eye to find the flower.” He does just that, rather quickly sensing out the plant and feeling its motions. The breeze softly pushing it side to side, the feeling of blades of grass brushing against its stem and leaves, or even the brief sensation of a Chulfair fluttering its paper thin wings as it flies by. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the flower and the flower alone, trying to block out all sensations other than the shape of the flower. He concentrates with every bit of mental power he has, not feeling anything for a good few minutes. Before he feels something brush against the petals. Likely just another Chulfair… Wait, no there’s more, and they’re all slightly pointed, and soft. Grass! There’s no way the flower could naturally bend that far. The boy opens up his eyes in excitement to see his work. Just as predicted, the flow bends down, brushing against the grass. With a bit of thought, the boy turns the flower to the other side. “Father, I’m doing it!” He calls out to the elder, looking upon his child with pride in his eyes, nodding to him. “That ye are, lad.” He says, “That ye are.” The grass lining the edge of the stream sways side to side, moving in slow, gradual waves for roughly two feet on either side of the boy with his hand planted in the dirt, the warm morning glow of the sun covering his face. He feels every single motion of each and every blade, like he has dozens of tiny little limbs, heeding his every command, if not somewhat uncoordinated. Three days passed since he learned the Druid’s Arm, and seven since the pair first came to the Heart of the Forest. Fiach looks to his son with a smile on his face, before turning his head towards the towering tree across the stream. He gives a brief nod, and whispers, “Aye, it’s time.” The elder walks over to Séan, planting his staff into the ground as he looks down at him. “Rise up, lad. It’s time for your final trial.” He says. The sun behind him casts his face in darkness, a stark contrast to the orange hue brightening his child’s, whom opens up his eyes at hearing the words of the Druid. “You think I’m ready, father?” He asks, pulling his hand from the ground, allowing the grass to return to its still position. He pushes himself up to his feet, icy eyes looking into his father’s emerald ones. “Aye, follow me.” He instructs, taking a wide step over the stream, with his son following behind, hopping over the water to follow his father towards the tree that had been over them for the past week. As they approach, the boy feels a warmth enveloping him, which only gets stronger as he nears the massive trunk, just a few feet behind his father. “Your last trial is a little bit different.” Fiach admits, reaching up to take the wooden circlet off his head and hand it, along with his staff, to his son, who takes both, with the staff still in the ground and more leaning against him that being fully carried. “I want to show you what awaits every Druid, and when the metallic demons have been slain, every Vulfchain.” The boy looks a bit puzzled, which his father sees once he turns around. “Step back a bit for me, would you?”' Doing as he’s told, Séan looks behind himself and takes a few steps back, dragging the staff in the ground with him before turning his eyes back to his father. “Now this may be a little bit scary, but you’ll understand soon enough.” He says, before sitting cross-legged on the ground, his back facing the tree. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, before letting it out. The warmth that surrounded the young Vulfchain only grows stronger, enveloping his entire form. The ground begins to rumble beneath his feet, the earth cracking and splitting apart, making way for hundreds of wooden tendrils to break out into the open air. The boy, suddenly filled with panic, leaps back, falling onto his backside, “Father!” He cries out, looking over at Fiach, who remains with his eyes shut, hands resting in his lap. “It’s alright, lad.” He reassures the youngling as the roots begin to curl and twist around him, forming almost a small cave around him, “This is how it’s meant to be.” With loud creaks and cracks, enough to cause the smaller Vulfchain to cover his ears, dropping the staff and circlet, the roots slowly close in upon the Druid. “Father, wait! What’s happening!?” Pure panic fills the boy’s voice as the elder opens his emerald eyes, a small smile growing on his face, the only thing that remains exposed form the dome of roots surrounding him. “Nature, my son.” He speaks in a low voice, filled not with worry for what was happening, but with joy. “Nature is not just life, it is also death. And from death, comes new life.” Séan’s eyes flood with tears as he runs over to his nearly hidden father. “Please! I don’t want you to die, don’t leave me!” “Hush now, lad. Death is not something to mourn. I am not leaving you.” Fiach adjusts himself, reaching out through the small opening within the wooden prison of his own making to place a hand upon his son’s cheek, a thumb wiping away his tear. “I’m moving on, to become one with The Forest. This means I’ll always be with you.” The boy leans into his father’s hand, his own arms reaching up to grasp at his arm as he lightly sobs. “J-just like grandmother?” He asks, recalling the words that his father told him in the past, the ones that he now repeats. “Aye, son. Just like grandmother. She is the forest, the forest is her. Now I am the forest, the forest is me.” He pulls his hand back into the tree, his son holding onto his arm until his fingers slipped back inside, as well. “I’ll always be by your side, my boy.” He says. As joyous as the older man sounded when he first began the ritual, there was just a hint of sorrow in his voice. No father wants to abandon his child, but a Druid must become one with the land.' “You’re the Druid now, take care of our village.” He says as more roots close in around him, leaving even less of his face covered. The child nods slowly, tears rolling down his face, streaking his fur with wetness. “I will. I love you, father..” His voice trails off, cracking with the weakness he feels. “I love you, Séan.” With those words spoken, the roots close in around the Druid, before tightening and shrinking. They shift from the form of a fairly sizeable dome, to a near exact outline of the Vulfchain that sat inside it. A bright, green flash shines from the shape, resulting in the boy shielding his eyes to protect his sight. As it slowly fades, so too do his defenses, his hand lowering as he spots where his father once sat. He’s gone. As are the roots, nothing stands there anymore. Nothing but grass. The boy falls to his knees, whimpering as tears fall from his eyes, which he promptly covers up. He just couldn’t believe it. Nothing prepared him for losing his father at such a young age, let alone such a manner. His thoughts are suddenly filled with doubt. “I’m not old enough to lead.” “My powers aren’t as strong as his.” “I’m not ready for this.” “Will I even be able to find my way back home?” “Will the village accept me?” Every second that passes fills him with a new reason to feel hopeless. And every second, his crying grows stronger, echoing out through the grove as if the whole forest felt silent. Wait a second, it has fallen silent.' With teary, red eyes, Séan looks up from his hands, still sniffling as he looks to the ground beneath him. Where his father stood there are now… flowers? Dozens, no, hundreds of flowers sprouting up from the ground at a rapid rate, faster than any normal growth. They’re sprouting and blooming within seconds! He turns around and sees that it’s not just the earth around him springing with new life, the entirety of the area within the ring of the stream sprouts countless flowers with all different colors and shapes. The boy wipes his nose with his arm and slowly stands up, briefly forgetting that his father just passed in front of him to admire the beauty of the new life. “From death… comes new life...” He repeats those words softly. It’s definitely not a coincidence that all of these plants grew right after his father joined the Forest. Something else strikes him as odd, though. As he looks past the stream he sees animals. Not just small mammals like Lanras or bird like Stachs, or even larger herbivores like Munclir, but carnivores. A few Brufkirs are thrown into the mix as well as some Fixlars. All of them just stand at the edge of the river until he looks at them. Then they… bow?' All of the creatures, plant and animal eater alike, seem to bow their heads in some way towards the boy, some easier than others given their body structure, but the motion is very clear for them all. They’re showing their respect, either for the passing of the Druid, or perhaps him? He tries to feel what one of them is, the Lanra closest to him. Shutting his eyes, the boy calls upon his Druid’s Eye, and feels the young creature out. He finds it rather easily. And the one next to it. And the one next to that. And that. And that. Within seconds the boy is sensing not just one or even a few of the creatures, but every single one of them. The grass beneath their paws and hooves, the fur of their neighbor brushing against them, and their thoughts. To read all of their minds at once is an absolutely breathtaking, and slightly terrifying, sensation for the young boy. To have the power to sense what so many creatures of the Forest are thinking at one time it’s… amazing. Of course he can’t properly distinguish so many things at once, but he can make out a single, common thought among them all. “Druid.” They’re referring to him. Recognizing him as the Druid. And he could sense it within them, easily. How? He only learned this ability a few days ago. Then his father’s words rang out in his ears, about how he became more powerful than his grandmother. The transferring of power. “That must be what happened.” He thinks to himself, looking down at his hands, trying to comprehend the power he’s just been granted, “Then the light flashed.” Still slightly teary-eyed, the boy turns his head back to the tree, wiping his face with his arm. “I’ll make you proud, father... “ He says, the despair in his voice fading away gradually. “I promise…” Reaching down, he grabs the circlet and staff in his hands and turns away, walking towards the wall of animals at the edge of the stream. He takes a wide step over the water, watching the mass start to part as he nears it. Every critter steps aside to make a path for him, allowing him to easily pass through. The boy takes a deep breath and walks back into the forest, making his way back to the village. Night slowly approaches as the boy does his village. He expected it to be shrouded in darkness, or dimly lit, as most folks would be going to sleep. Instead, he’s surprised to see every torch is blazing, and everyone is awake. From the pups barely learning to walk, to the elders hobbling from their homes. Every one of them faces his direction, likely expecting his return. Taking a deep breath, he approaches his village. His village, it’s still something he’s not quite able to wrap his mind around. Even thinking about it on the long, solemn walk back, he still can’t comprehend the fact that he’s now the Druid. As he approaches, a few guards point out to him and turn to mutter to each other, then the villagers, who in turn spread the word to one another. The boy feels fear creeping into his heart. Are they talking about how unhappy they are? Do they already miss his father? Do they think he did something to him? Do they know the truth?' All his questions are put to rest when the head guard, Muirne, clad in the same minimal leather clothing as the rest of the guards plus an iron nasal helm, cries out to the village, “The Druid comes forth!” With that, the guards hit their shields with their weapons, and drop to their knees. The shafts of their spears and the tips of their blades planted in the dirt with their heads bowed. The villagers soon follow, getting to their own knees to show respect for the newly appointed leader. Children who shuffle and complain are chastised by their parents, older villagers are aided to the ground by the younger. Man and woman, young and old, armed and unarmed, all bowing and placing their trust in him. A pup. The boy looks over the crowd, trying to take in the sight before him. To believe it. It’s all such a shock to him he can hardly comprehend it. He left the village the child of a Druid, and returned… a Druid. He looks to his left hand and looks at the circlet. It’s a bit too big to properly fit him now, but he places it atop his head regardless, letting it hang by the front of his forehead so the back end could rest on the back of his neck. He’ll grow into it. He keeps the staff firmly planted in the ground with his right hand as he overlooks his clan. He is not the child of Druid Fiach O’Uaine anymore. He is Séan O’Fiach.' He '''is the Druid. Category:Short Stories